They Call it Stockholm Syndrome
by andabigamarone
Summary: To everyone else, it's a happy ending; Hannibal Lecter dead and Clarice Starling rescued. But Clarice knows that even this won't keep them apart. This takes place after the events of the book Hannibal.


A strange bouquet reached Dr. Lecter's nose long before any other man would have realized that something was wrong, but not before Starling's head was whipping up from its place on his shoulder.

Silently, he placed his finger against his lips. Eyes closed, deep breath through the nose. Some odors were real, some not. A bottle of wine breathing in the kitchen; oak and violets. A shameful twinge of fear, quickly controlled; smoke and burnt flesh. A presence outside the house; gun powder and sweat.

Dr. Lecter's eyes snapped open. No need to tell Clarice; she was already going for her gun.

As the front door crashed down, the basement door slammed shut.

At the bottom of the stairs, Dr. Lecter turned to face Starling. He was pleased to see the fierce control in his own red eyes mirrored in her blue ones.

"Listen to me, Clarice; they're looking for me, not you. To them, you are a helpless victim."

Starling's control wavered, nearly imperceptibly. Nearly.

"No, Clarice, this is no time for pride." He ignored her half-stifled snort of disbelief. "If you were to kill me now- no, listen- if you were to kill me now they would welcome you back. At worst, you would have to listen to a group of idiot psychiatrists babbling on about Stockholm syndrome."

Her control was still there, though barely. _Between iron and silver_, thought Dr. Lecter.

"No."

"Clarice –"

"_No."_

* * *

Upstairs, a swarm of armed and armored men heard a single gunshot. A moment later, they were crashing through the basement door.

At the bottom of the stairs they halted, guns trained on the lone figure still standing in the dusty gloom. At her feet, a lithe, handsome, and now faceless body oozed blood. The blood soaked her stocking feet and seeped into darkened corners.

* * *

Outside her door, Starling heard the hushed and hurried voices of people arguing and trying not to be heard. Hospitals are like chapels; people feel ashamed if they speak too loudly.

Starling slid silently out of the bed and crept to the keyhole. Immediately, she was bombarded with familiar voices.

"What do you mean, you need to question her?" A snappy female voice, louder than the others; Ardelia Mapp. The voice tore at Starling's heart.

The next voice sounded tired and worn thin; Jack Crawford. Starling was shocked he hadn't yet been retired.

"I mean, I was dragged here from a fairly miserable but quiet retirement because I _know _her, Mapp."

So that explained it. The voice continued.

"I mean, they're fairly certain it's him but his fingertips have been surgically altered and, as you very well know, DNA testing wasn't around when he was last in custody. Besides which, all of the evidence connected to him has been compromised because Starling had access to it. Most importantly, I mean _your boss _gave me orders to question her."

A new voice. It was a moment before Starling realized that it belonged to Alana Bloom.

"Mapp's right, Jack. She's been through an ordeal. There are more law enforcement officers in this building than there are doctors. We can afford to give her a day or two. Anyway, if it is Stockholm syndrome you won't get anything out of her today."

Crawford sighed.

"Fine. They sure as hell can't do anything to me for not following orders."

A heavy set of footsteps retreated down the hall. Two lighter sets started towards the door.

By the time the door opened, Starling was in bed, apparently deeply asleep.

* * *

When Mapp opened the door the next day, Starling was standing by the window. Mapp braced herself, but Starling's tearful smile broke through her defenses. She may be one of the two most intelligent people Starling knows, but Mapp doesn't have nearly the control of the other. When Starling rushed at her, Mapp accepted her with open arms.

"I knew he made you write that letter," she choked out. Starling stiffened nearly imperceptibly. Nearly.

Mapp pulled back and looked into Starling's eyes. She saw pain and love and something she couldn't put her finger on.

"What did he do to you?"

"You know, you're the only person other than him and my father who could ever tell when I was really losing it? No, wait, I don't want to talk about him. Let's just… let's take a walk and you tell me about yourself. Take my mind off it. Please."

Mapp paused for half a second. There were protocols and safety precautions and… but Lecter was dead. She took a deep, shaky breath.

"Sure," she said.

Suddenly, she grinned wickedly. "Though I'm sure the last three years of my life haven't been nearly as interesting as yours."

She wondered for a second if she had misjudged; but then Starling laughed. They both laughed much longer than the joke was worth.

* * *

The officers who tried to prevent Starling from leaving were promptly swept away by Mapp's credentials; at the moment, she outranked everyone in the hospital.

There were more officers outside, but Starling noted with satisfaction that they did not have the perimeter secured. After all, no one was supposed to be able to leave or enter the hospital building without a police escort.

In this moment, reunited with her best friend for the first time in three long years, Mapp didn't give a damn about security. Only love could make Ardelia Mapp careless.

_Teach us to care and not to care, _thought Starling.

Mapp didn't see Starling's fist before it connected with her temple.

* * *

Starling knew she didn't have much time; they were only partially shielded from view by a pair of large elm trees and someone would notice soon that she was missing. Still, she checked Mapp's pulse before gently placing her against the wider of the trees.

* * *

Mapp woke to her phone buzzing. For a moment, she was disoriented. Why was she on the ground?

Then she remembered.

"Damn! _Damn!_"

Mapp answered the phone.

"Mapp, it's Jack. Where the hell are you? Never mind, they've found a hidden cellar below the basement. Looks like someone was living there. There's an exit, Mapp. And the body we've got never had polydactyly. I can't believe it took them nearly a whole day to think to check."

"Mister Crawford-"

"We need to secure Starling immediately. I'm sorry, I know she's your friend, but now we know she's his accomplice we have to lock her up. I need you to-"

"Jack!"

"Yes, Mapp?"

"She's gone."

Silence.

"I think she must have… must have knocked me out and made a run for it. We were outside. I just came to."

The silence on the other end of the line continued for a moment. When Crawford broke it, his voice was low and cold.

"Why the hell was she outside the hospital, Mapp?"

"I made a bad judgment call, okay? I screwed up. Now let's-"

"Mapp, you're off the case. Report back Behavioral Sciences before you can screw up anything else."

The line went dead.

* * *

With Dr. Lecter back on the FBI's Most Wanted list and Starling's face broadcast all over the country above the words "Suspected Accomplice", Starling had to be extremely careful. Luckily, she had learned from the best; first at Quantico and then in Argentina.

It was easy for her to hitch a lift; a small, beautiful, 36 year old woman did not intimidate the drivers passing through Baltimore.

_Baltimore, _Starling thought. _How stupid of us, how arrogant!_

A couple of days in Baltimore to settle an old score. _Damn him!_

Before her handsy driver had a chance to see her face in a newspaper or on television, she had broken his neck and shoved him in the trunk.

* * *

Starling arrived in Pennsylvania with a new haircut, intentionally unflattering makeup, and an oversized set of sweats stuffed with her old clothes; weight gain is a surprisingly effective disguise.

She found the place easily; Dr. Lecter's directions had been good. E-Z Store was exactly the kind of place where she had once found her first gift from Doctor Lecter. The thought made her smile before she remembered that she was angry with him.

The door to his storage unit, rented under a little-used alias, had not been opened since he'd rented it three years ago. Just in case, he had said.

Inside, Starling found everything she needed to assume a new identity. He'd even left her a car.

Starling found her anger ebbing. Her head clear, she set to work.

* * *

In less than a week, Clarice Starling was sitting outside a nondescript street chicken stand in Oaxaca City, Mexico. Her hair was cropped close to her head and nearly black. She wore khaki shorts, a white blouse, and running shoes. Her distinctive blue eyes were hidden behind large sunglasses.

"Yo puedo darte comida mejor de este, cariño."

Starling did not turn around, but her lip twitched towards a smile.

"Me gusta este. And I'm angry with you."

The voice behind her laughed.

"No, you are not. My plan worked perfectly. Besides, you never could be angry with me for very long."

"Still, you should have told me. If you knew they were coming, you should have told me. I should have known the plan as soon as you did. We're supposed to be partners, Hannibal."

Dr. Lecter sighed.

"Was I wrong in thinking you would have been troubled by the knowledge that I was keeping a man in the root cellar?"

Starling resisted the desire to roll her eyes. Before she could reply, Dr. Lecter was crouching in front of her. No one else would have noticed the concern in his eyes, but Starling knew that it was there. She removed her sunglasses and smiled at her husband.

"I've missed you," she said.

Dr. Lecter grinned, showing his sharp teeth. Then he leaned up and kissed her.

When he pulled back, they stood up together and embraced.

"And I you, Clarice."


End file.
